1913

Broke to every known mischance, lifted over all

By the light sane joy of life, the buckler of the Gaul;

Furious in luxury, merciless in toil,

Terrible with strength that draws from her tireless soil;

Strictest judge of her own worth, gentlest of man's mind,

First to follow Truth and last to leave old Truths behind—

France, beloved of every soul that loves its fellow-kind!

Ere our birth (rememberest thou?) side by side we lay

Fretting in the womb of Rome to begin our fray.

Ere men knew our tongues apart, our one task was known—

[16]

Each must mould the other's fate as he wrought his own

To this end we stirred mankind till all Earth was ours,

Till our world-end strifes begat wayside thrones and powers—

Puppets that we made or broke to bar the other's path—

Necessary, outpost folk, hirelings of our wrath

To this end we stormed the seas, tack for tack, and burst

Through the doorways of new worlds, doubtful which was first,

Hand on hilt (rememberest thou?) ready for the blow—

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